


What Will Happen

by Raicho



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Cannibalistic Thoughts, Hurt!Daryl, Infected!Daryl, M/M, Protective!Rick, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, Worried!Rick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-08-23 00:30:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8306887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raicho/pseuds/Raicho
Summary: Daryl Dixon was afraid.
He was infected. The oozing bite on his shoulder was a testament to that, it showed that he was already a dead man walking. He was going to die alone; he’d burn out his candle at both ends by chasing hallucinations and praying for the end to take him down to Hell for a Dixon family reunion.





	1. Dying

            Daryl’d been bit.

            He was on a solo run at some abandoned pharmacy 35 miles away from home for cough medicine and painkillers. There was no one around for miles. He’d locked the damn door behind him and cleared the entire store before getting to business. He had the bottles of medicine tucked neatly away in his bag, all packed and ready for him to turn around and head home. He’d been about to open the glass door and slip through its opening when a cold hand grabbed for his vest—quiet and dead as a graveyard. And he’d been bit.

            The first thought that crossed his mind as he felt the blunt-edged pressure of the walker's teeth clamp down on the junction between his neck and shoulder was _what will happen to Rick?_

            The finality of the thought startled him, kicked him into high gear with a lethal mindset. He pulled himself free from the undead's mangled jaw—painted crimson and wet with Daryl's blood—before he rammed his sharpened knife into its decomposing forehead like a hot knife through butter. He watched as it immediately stilled, its snarling ceased as he retracted the blade. He watched as its body fell lifelessly to the ground like a bag of wet sand, its bones snapping beneath its own weight.

            His adrenaline rush quickly wore off as he gasped for breath; his shaking fingers reached upward to press at the gaping hole of torn muscle in his shoulder. The wound began to howl with pain like flames licking at his exposed and bleeding nerves, and his limbs turned to Jello as they fell lamely to his sides. His vision blurred from the shock, and he stumbled backwards until his bulk caught against the solid structure of a wall behind him. He tried to reach back for support, fingers sliding against the textured brick work as his form sank to the floor with a defeated sob. He was tired and weak; his eyes struggled to focus on the window where the fading sunlight peeked into the room.

            Daryl Dixon was afraid.

            He was infected. The oozing bite on his shoulder was a testament to that, it showed that he was already a dead man walking. He was going to die alone; he’d burn out his candle at both ends by chasing hallucinations and praying for the end to take him down to Hell for a Dixon family reunion. And if he was a man of luck, he’d be found by some unnamed stranger who’d be kind enough to put him out of his misery before it ever came to that—before the fever would fry out the circuits in his head and his bones would turn to glass. Before he’d take his last breath and shut his eyes for good, only to wake as a walking corpse in search of his first innocent meal.

            He’d never get to hold Judith again; press her baby soft cheeks close against his chest and watch her gurgle and grin as her sweet eyes sparkled up at him. He’d never get to teach Carl how to properly hunt; take the boy out for a decent camping trip, and let the misunderstood teen explore the youth that’d been stripped from him too early in life. He’d never get to see Glenn and Maggie’s first child; see the way the little tyke would have his father’s eyes and his mother’s soft skin and perfect hair. He’d never get to taste another bite of Carol’s cooking; savor the way her home-cooked meals were always just the perfect temperature, or how they were made with love and melted on his tongue with the most tempting flavors. He’d never get to spar with Michonne, smoke another cigar with Abraham, or collect one more state license plate with Aaron again.

            As he was going through the list of ‘never’ moments in his head, checking off each one with an apologetic mental salute and a mournful sigh, one thought in particular broke his heart with its torturous reality— _He’d never get to be with Rick again._

            He’d never get to watch him wake; observe the way the different shades of morning light danced across Rick’s bare skin and made him more handsome with every shift of the breeze. He’d never get to run his fingers through thick blond curls and savor the way it made Rick’s lips part with a pleased smile and his eyes crinkle with unsuppressed charm. He’d never get to taste Rick’s lips or the heaviness of his cock on his velvet tongue again. He’d never get to watch the officer’s blue eyes rake up and down his body with savage lust, or relish the way he’d hold him close to his chest on cold nights. He’d never again get to hear Rick’s southern drawl whisper in his ear ‘you’re my brother’ just before he’d take Daryl’s hand and squeeze tight.

            The fear of that loss flooded him with a wave of overwhelming emotions; drowning him with guilt and choking him with fitful sobs. He sat with his chin tucked against his chest, rocking with the motion of his despondent howls, and he waited for the world to catch fire and fade to black.


	2. Beginning

            _“Daryl.”_

            There were white hot flames and charcoal black demons with forked tails that tickled against his neck, their long fingers stroking the line of his jaw with false comfort. There were embers beneath his toes and lava flowing through his veins as he became weightless, floating through a space of nothingness.

            _"Daryl.”_

He was a child again—lost and scared—with silent wisdom older than his years. He was suddenly running, chased in a forest of darkness with unknown hands clawing at him from all angles. There were inhuman screams and drawn out moans that littered his hearing, making it hard for him to think.

            _"I need you, brother."_

The light pierced his eyes like daggers, making him shut his eyes against the unwelcomed pain with haste. He slowly rolled his head from side to side as he attempted to recollect his thoughts, making sure to keep his eyes closed against the blinding light.

            “Daryl?”

            It was a familiar voice—Rick’s voice. _But why was Rick’s voice in Daryl’s afterlife?_

            A calloused hand was brought up to cup Daryl’s face, and a strong thumb stroked soothingly against the stubble of the hunter’s jawline, causing his body to jerk from the startling touch.

            “Daryl, are you with me?”

            Rick’s voice was pulling at the cobwebs in Daryl’s head, clearing them from the corners and ridding them from the chaos already whirling inside the hunter’s restless mind.

            Once again Daryl attempted to open his eyes, this time slower than before. It felt like years passed before his lids peeled open, exposing his sensitive irises to the bright light of morning.

            _Wasn’t it dusk just before he closed his eyes?_

            A figure moved into his line of vision, haloed by sunlight while its shadow cast itself across the expanse of Daryl’s face, causing the hunter to squint for clarity. He could barely make out the person’s features, but he could recognize the wild curls and iconic head tilt anywhere. _Rick_.

            “Rick?” His voice sounded more like a broken moan than a word—it was unsettling to his own ears.

            He stared for a long while as the figure nodded, its features slowly coming into view as the different shades of light and shadow blended into a recognizable image of his friend—his lover.

            “Oh God, Daryl…” Rick’s voice shook with worry as he leaned down to push back the damp strands of Daryl’s bangs before placing a gentle kiss atop the hunter’s forehead, “I thought I’d lost you.”

            He wanted to open his mouth and tell him _y’did lose me_ , but his tongue felt like a bar of lead trapped inside his mouth.

            “What—how did this happen?” Rick’s eyes were practically glued on the gnarly bite still seeping a thin stream of plasma from Daryl’s shoulder.

            “W’s a walker,” Daryl slurred, “Been bit, Rick.”

            Rick wore a grimaced expression, his mouth pulled into a sour frown of sorts and his eyes were sharp with pained regret. He looked over Daryl’s slumped form and he nodded with quiet affirmation.

            “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure where I'm going with this... But I have a rough draft of a few chapters so we'll see.  
> Please leave kudos and comments if you liked this story thus far! Thank you! :)


	3. Denying

            As it turned out, Daryl’d been dead for nearly thirty-four hours; his body left cold and lifeless inside the empty pharmacy, propped against a wall with some flies nipping at his fingers.

            Rick's search was spawned thanks to Carl’s worrying about Daryl’s non-return. Fortunately they’d known where the hunter had planned to make his run, so the search grid had been relatively simple. Once Rick pulled up to the shopping center that housed the abandoned pharmacy, and when he’d taken one look inside and found Daryl unconscious and slumped against the wall with the body of a decaying walker sprawled on the floor beside him, Rick couldn't pry the lock off the door fast enough.

            Rick had sat with him, mourning the loss of his archer until he saw Daryl's lip twitch. Rick had been terrified at first, neither ready nor willing to put down the hunter like a rabid dog in a kennel, but when he really _watched_ , he knew that Daryl was still there. Rick could recognize it in the way Daryl’s eyebrows knit together with steadied concentration even in slumber; recognized it in the way his fingers curled and his leg jerked as if he were still trapped under the covers of their shared bed at home.

            And then he woke up.

            And Rick stared with undisguised awe.

            The bite was undeniable—ugly and ripe against the hunter’s paling flesh. Rick had questions, and he knew he’d have to wait for answers that may never even come to him.

            But now they were on the road after Rick had hoisted Daryl into a bridal carry, setting him down only when they reached the passenger side of the car. Daryl’s legs wouldn’t cooperate, he couldn’t find the strength to move them; could barely find the strength to lift his arms to sling over Rick’s neck as they walked out of the building.

            He’d tried to ignore the hypnotic rhythm of Rick’s pumping heart that rang through his ears as he pressed his head atop the officer’s firm chest. He’d tried to ignore the way his eyes lingered on the tanned expanse of Rick’s neck, the way his Adam’s apple would bob as he swallowed for air and cause Daryl's mouth to water at the sight. He tried to ignore how hot Rick’s hold was, how his contact made Daryl feel like he was a chunk of ice melting atop a burning gas stove. He tried to ignore the absent beating in his own chest, the loss of breath seemed daunting. And most importantly, Daryl tried to ignore his own reflection in the visor’s mirror.

            His skin was wan like snow—a drastic contrast from his once golden tan—and his eyes were pale crystals floating in a muted pool of milk, surrounded by black, tired circles. They were frightening to behold—evidence that what happened to Daryl was real. It made him uncomfortable.

            _Was he even still human?_

            “We’ll get this sorted out when we get home.” Rick nodded as he sat himself in the driver’s seat, “Carl will be happy to see you’re alri—”

            “Ain’t alright, Rick,” Daryl snarled—actually  _snarled_ , “Ain’t nothin’ alright ‘bout this shit.”

            “We’ll figure it out.”

            Daryl huffed as he leaned against the window—the chill of its condensation unsurprisingly warmer than his own body’s temperature, “Yea, whatever y’ say, hoss.”

            He closed his eyes and shut out the world, unwilling to face the truth about what was happening—of what had _already happened_. He listened to the quiet drone of the engine and the crunching gravel beneath the vehicle’s wheels as they drove back home in tense silence.


	4. Returning

            They were greeted with open arms upon their return home; Carl and Michonne had been waiting for them at the gate with buzzing anticipation evident in their posture. Daryl’d been slow about getting out of the car due to a mixture of him being both weakened and not wanting their attention aimed his way. But the attention was there when Rick—preparing to carry the archer through the threshold of their shared home—had come around to his side of the vehicle once it was parked at the curb. When Rick’s hand popped the handle of the passenger door, Daryl unexpectedly growled low in the back of his throat, teeth bared and all. Rick heard.

            Hoping they hadn’t heard or seen Daryl just yet, Rick cautiously looked over his shoulder at his son and spoke, “How ‘bout you give us some time to get Daryl settled? It’s been a long trip and we’ve some thangs that need talked over,” Rick turned toward Michonne and Carl, hoping to send them away without much refusal, “Let's take a bit to rest and we’ll call for you when we’re ready. Sound good?”

            Carl’s demeanor immediately soured as a pout spread across his face, but Michonne remained quiet and observed the panic settled in Rick’s stare—she nodded her consent.

            “Alright,” Michonne nodded as she wrapped an arm around Carl’s shoulder, hugging the boy close to her side, “Let us know if you need anything,” She gave a reassuring smile as she turned to Carl and playfully flicked a finger at his hat, “I’ll be around showing this punk how to make a real pudding parfait.”

            With Carl’s eye bright from newly blossomed excitement, the two left Rick alone to tend to Daryl. Rick waited for them to reach a distance out of earshot before spinning around to level the hunter with a concerned glare.

            “What the hell was that?”

            Daryl shrugged nonchalantly.

            “What are we doin’ here, Daryl?” The hunter could tell that Rick felt lost; didn't know how to handle his unsettling change.

            A sad smile curled his lips as Daryl shook his head, “Y’ tell me, Rick,” the hunter sighed with disgust, “Shouldn’t be here.”

            Rick didn’t know what to say and neither did Daryl. They both knew they were dealing with something thought to be impossible—something that shouldn’t have ever happened in the first place. Rick shouldn’t be arguing with Daryl right now, he should be opening up the hatchback to throw Daryl’s stiff corpse on the ground in preparation for the archer’s burial. But Rick wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth; wasn't going to run around looking for answers that no one had to readily give. Daryl was here, alive or not—but he was _real_ —and the single thought of the possibility that he could've lost him just makes Rick's stomach drop with the shock of terror. So Rick looked at Daryl with eyes unwavering and the understanding of a miracle evident with each blink.

            “Whatever, le’s go.” Daryl grumbled as he looked away from Rick's intense stare, eyes pointedly aimed at the ground as the officer crowded into his space and enveloped the hunter in his arms.

            Rick carried him through the doorway and up the stairs; the smell of cinnamon-scented candles and fresh cedar filled his nostrils as they stepped further into the territory of their home. _He could still smell._ He took another whiff, this time inhaling the scent of Rick's aftershave and shampoo. He shivered in the officer's arms. 

            He was set atop their bed with the most delicate care; as if Rick was afraid one wrong move would shatter the phenomenon and send Daryl whirling back into death’s grip. Rick watched him as he leaned back into the soft luxury of their bedspread and plush pillows, sighing as he closed his eyes to shut out the world. The silence was broken when an unexpected cry echoed through the hall, startling the hunter from his second’s worth of relaxation. _Judith_.

            Daryl flung his arm over his eyes to hide his own tears that were beginning to bubble to the surface. The sound of her was too much to think about right now, especially when he wanted to mirror her shrilling sob.

            Rick moved toward the door, frozen and unwilling to leave the hunter unattended in his current state. Daryl noticed the apprehension in the officer’s action and waved him off with his free hand.

            “S’ fine. Go take care of th’ lil’ A.”

            Rick dipped his head and moved another step in the direction of the crying infant, “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”

            And with that Rick left Daryl in solitude with only the company of his icy tears and the wailing cry of his surrogate daughter. Daryl chuckled to himself as he rolled his head to the side, hiding it from the piercing light that shone through the room’s window.

            “Couldn’t even if I wanted t’.”


	5. Integrating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** Questionable talk of wanting to eat babies & suicidal thoughts. You've been warned. **
> 
> Unbeta'd

            It had been slow-going after returning; Daryl had refused his friends’ company, choosing instead to hide behind the four walls of his bedroom—a prison sturdy enough to contain his questionable secret for the moment. The only person allowed entry was Rick, the one man who’d acted as his rescuer and keeper.

            “I know you have questions,” Rick had said, voice even with patience and confidence as he looked over the audience made up from his community, individuals and families gathered together for a town meeting on the night of Daryl’s return, “But keep them to yourselves for now. We need time...” He spoke with the authority of a born leader, “Just know that Daryl is fine. Know that _we’re_ _fine_.”

            The gossip was inevitable, but was made bearable after Rick had pulled aside several of their close friends to disclose to them in confidence concerning Daryl’s condition. He’d told Michonne about how he’d found the hunter lying dead in a pool of his own blood; no discernible sign of heartbeat or breath to provide for comforting thought. He’d told Carol about the haunting white emptiness that now sat in place of once beautifully deep blue eyes, how they at times appeared glassy when they’d linger on Rick for too long. He’d told Glenn about the snarling and the feral nature the hunter would assume when he felt pressed. He’d told Carl about the bite on Daryl’s shoulder, warning his son to remain cautious but hopeful.

            “We’ll figure it out together.”

            It was becoming Rick’s mantra. It was the only damn thing he’d say anytime Daryl would find himself helplessly clawing at the sheets, silently wishing it was something’s flesh tearing beneath his fingers instead of soft cotton.

            He was afraid to be left alone; to be left unwatched. Not because of fear of solitude, but because he couldn’t trust himself anymore. He had sudden urges that would overwhelm him inexplicably, especially when Rick was around. He’d want to lick at a long strip of muscle that lead to the officer’s jugular; wanted to taste the saltiness of his sweat and the ripened flavor of his breath as he panted for Daryl to _just stop_.

            When Rick was nearby he’d swear he could hear the blood rushing through the man’s veins like the Mississippi River, waiting to be uncorked and tapped into at the source for a revitalizing sample. And when he’d heard the baby cry— _Oh Lord when she cried_ —he wanted to answer her siren’s call, loud and blaring and summoning him like a dog to a trainer's whistle. He was starving and she was _fresh_. She was _new_ and he fought with every ounce of whatever shred of humanity he still retained to stay back—to uselessly shred into the white fabric beneath his fingernails and bite into his pale cracked lip as he struggled to remain frozen beneath the weight of his own weakened body.

            “Brought ya somethin’,” Rick’s sweet-tempered voice cut through Daryl’s wild thoughts as he walked into the room, holding a tray with a bowl of something steaming, “Thought you’d be hungry.”

            Rick set the tray in front of Daryl atop the bed, allowing for the hunter to peek inside the bowl to discover its contents—sliced carrots and chunks of squirrel meat blended into some type of casserole. It was revolting and smelled like sewage to Daryl’s nose.

            “Ain’t hungry.” Daryl lied. He was starving. _Famished_.

            Rick shook his head with ill-disguised disappointment.

            “Can you give it a try?" He watched Daryl stare at the fork with apprehension, "Please?” Rick was practically begging, “I had Carol make it for you after I told her—”

            The words stung Daryl like pointed needles, “You told ‘er?”

            Rick nodded, “I told her. I told a few of 'em,” Rick watched as Daryl’s expression took on an appearance of frustration and repugnance, “Daryl, they had to know. We can’t do this alone.”

            Daryl vehemently shook his head with weak strength as he half mumbled half growled out, “Ya mean _you_ can't do this a'lone. I'da been just fine had ya left me fer dead," Daryl hissed as he watched the hurt spread through Rick's expression, "They shouldn’t know. I’ll make ‘em sick… Pro’ly hurt ‘em… Should’a just finished th’ job when y’ found me, Rick. Ain’t natural what I am now.”

            “Now you know that ain’t true,” Rick shot out his own growl, “That ain’t true one bit, Daryl.”

            Pale eyes glared at Rick with haunting defiance.

            “They’re our friends. They want to help.”

            Daryl laughed.

            “Only help fer me ‘s a shotgun t’ th’ brain, an' you know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments & kudos are greatly appreciated! :)


	6. Admitting

            It was obvious Rick was feeling abandoned. He’d found his guardian angel once more amongst the carnage of the world, and he’d been left to handle the emotional strain by himself.  The fantasy was crumbling, and Rick didn’t know how to fix it.

            Setting the dinner bowl down on the nightstand, Rick fumed, “Why’re you fightin’ with me on everything I’m trying to do for you, Daryl?”

            _Because I’m afraid._

            "Why are you blaming me for wanting you _alive_?"

            _'Cause I shouldn't be here. I ain't even alive no more..._

            Rick was pissed. His eyes were razor-sharp and his jaw was firm set with a serious rigidity, “Why didn’t you just end it yourself?"

            _Couldn't end it 'cause of you._

            And then all at once everything Daryl'd been trying so desperately to keep hidden and placid came bubbling to the surface. There was a sour taste—reminiscent of failure—that began to linger on his tongue accompanied with a flavor of guilt that was generously peppered into the unpleasant mixture. Daryl's head felt warm and dizzy and his eyes began to fog with tears. In an instant everything was boiling over and he was left reaching out and clutching at Rick’s hand before the officer had the chance to pull away and leave Daryl behind like everyone else in his life. His words spilled and blurted loudly from his tied tongue with a stuttering flow like a broken faucet.

            “‘Cause I needed ya.”

            His voice quivered and his chest was straining to retain some semblance of pace as he spoke, but breath or no, Daryl huffed as he angled his body to face Rick standing at the edge of the bed, “Couldn't do it 'cause I still need ya, Rick.”

            And instantly Rick was there by his side, bending low and dipping into his space like a comforting angel with his soft blonde curls and whiskey-smooth voice. He brought Daryl’s limp and shivering form into the soft embrace of his strong arms and they rocked together like a bottle caught in the tide. There was a hand pressed against the broadness of his back, and Daryl focused on its heat—the way it radiated nurturing love all the way down to his frozen marrow. He was sobbing and grasping at the lose fabric of Rick’s shirt, hoping to hold onto the man as his anchor, and Rick was there whispering calming apologies into the shell of his ear as if Daryl were the upset babe of the household and not Judith.

            “I’m sorry, Daryl,” Rick whispered, his voice tired and worn from the day’s roller coaster of emotions, “I didn’t mean to say that.”

            And unlike all the times when his daddy was sober enough to find the right words to curse Daryl’s every breath, he knew that Rick hadn’t meant what he’d said. Rick wasn’t like the rest of the world, wondering why evolution didn’t end the Dixon line long before Daryl ever let out his first cry or took his first sip of mother’s milk. Rick _wanted_ Daryl.

            “I need you, Daryl. I need you more than you’ll ever know… Please… Just let me in.”

            Daryl always crumbled beneath the sincerity of Rick’s tone, his willingness to bare himself to the other man unrivaled by any other.

            “Y’know, when it happened,” Daryl’s voice was quiet as he shook in Rick’s arms, “All’s I could think about was what would happen t’ ya—what would happen to _us_ ," Daryl stopped talking to allow that to sink in for a moment. He wanted Rick to understand how necessary he was for Daryl’s continued survival, “What would happen if I weren’t able t’ get back t’ ya, Rick,” Daryl’s voice cracked, “N’ that terrified me.”

            "You don't have t' worry about that... I'm right here." Rick tried soothing the upset man in his arms.

            Daryl shook his head in disagreement, "S'not that. I know yer here, Rick, but what if I weren't here t' see t' that?" Daryl's pale white eyes stared up at Rick with the same untamed fear that a child's would hold before bedtime called for them to peer beneath their bed in search of monsters, "At first 'was thinkin' I'd give anythin' just to spend another day with y'all. So I could kiss Judith goodnight n' play a game 'r two with Carl. Wanted another night with ya so I could hear yer heart beatin' against my ear. I'da given anythin' t' make sure you were safe for another day."

            Rick nodded and listened to Daryl as he continued to unveil his thoughts and fear.

            "An' I got so goddamn tired, Rick. Jus' wanted to hang on but it was gettin' hard. I dunno how it happened or why God picked me, but I woke up an' you were standing over me like some stupid angel. Thought maybe I'd died an' gone t' heaven when I saw ya," Daryl choked on a stifled whimper and Rick watched as a teardrop landed on the junction of their joined hands, "But I'm still tired. An' it just feels like now there's nothin' but ice surroundin' me and everythin's screamin' at me. I _hear_ things, Rick. It ain't natural, an' it makes me scared 'cause I know there's somethin' not right with me. I'm afraid tha' I'm becomin' what I shoulda been protectin' y'all from."


	7. Trying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd

            Rick had held Daryl long into the night, long past the wolf’s hour and into the morning. By the time Daryl finally settled from his tears it was dawn. Rick was still there by his side.

            “I don’t think we have anything to fear from you, Daryl,” Rick pressed a tender kiss atop Daryl’s cool forehead, “You’re a good man. I know you’d never do anything to harm us. Any of us.”

            Daryl was about to let out a protest, but was quickly hushed when Rick tapped a finger against his sealed lips and shook his head.

            “I think we should see about getting you something to eat before we continue this conversation. I haven’t seen a single thing pass those lips a’ yer’s since you got back. Nothin’ but a bunch of sorry-sounding bullshit, if you ask me.”

            Daryl was exhausted and hungry. He nodded, "Yeah, okay. But only 'cause you asked me nicely.”

            "That's the spirit!” Rick laughed, “I’ll go ask Carol to heat us up some breakfast.” Rick smiled as he walked out of the room with the bowl of wasted casserole from the night before in hand.

            While waiting for Rick's return, Daryl sat quietly as he tried to fight the demons raging inside his head. He didn’t want to be a disappointment anymore; he didn’t want to hurt the ones he loved anymore. He knew he had to try to face this. He'd try anything to keep seeing Rick smile.

            When Rick returned, he carried with him two steaming dishes of peanut butter toast, freshly picked strawberries, and several sausage links. The sight of it made Daryl’s stomach growl, but he still couldn’t help but scrunch his nose at the heady smell of peanut butter that radiated from the plates. Just like the casserole from the night before, this meal seemed equally unappealing.

            But Daryl swore he’d try.

            "Brought me breakfast in bed, huh?" Daryl teased as he cleared space for Rick to sit beside him.

            Rick winked, "Anything for you, gorgeous." Sitting next to Daryl on the bed, Rick handed the hunter a full plate and fork, “Dig in.”

            Daryl played with the food for a moment, twirling it lamely across the cracked china before he stabbed at berry and tentatively brought it to his mouth. He tried to hold his breath (no, that wasn’t right, he didn’t breathe anymore)—he tried to stop himself from smelling the food on the tip of his fork as he stuck the offending fruit between his teeth and clamped down.

            He started to gag immediately.

            “Daryl?” Rick glanced over at him with worry, his arms outstretched and ready to help at the drop of a pin, “You okay?”

            Daryl bobbed his head up and down before rapidly leaning over his plate and spitting out the chewed berry.

            “What was wrong with it?” Rick asked as he started to inspect his own selection of berries placed on his plate.

            Panting, Daryl answered, “Tasted like piss n’ vinegar. Smelled like it, too.”

            Rick curiously plucked a strawberry from his plate and brought it closer to his face for further inspection. The officer sniffed at the fruit with consideration before flicking his tongue out to trace along the berry’s sweet surface. Apparently satisfied, Rick took the chance and bit into the fruit. Daryl watched with hungry eyes as a trickle of red juice dribbled from Rick’s lips and down his chin.

            The officer hummed, “Seems fine t’ me.”

            The archer quickly averted his eyes, “Just not hungry, I guess.”

            “Daryl, you’ve gotta eat something.” Rick insisted.

            Yeah, Daryl knew he had to eat something. But he didn’t know what that _something_ had to be. Fruits and vegetables were like garbage on his tongue and assaulted his sense of smell like urine in hot sun. The only thing he could think of that made his mouth salivate with want was the golden pulse point beneath Rick’s jaw.

            “I’ll eat later,” Daryl nodded as he turned away from the other man, “Just tired.”

            Rick nodded, understanding that it wasn’t in his best interest to press Daryl so much so soon after finally breaking him from his mood. Rick knew there was more than what Daryl was telling him, and it worried him. For the moment he could do nothing more than silently sit and watch as Daryl faded away to nothingness.

            But as Rick took the last bite of his meal, teeth biting into the fatty thickness of a freshly cooked sausage link, an idea occurred to him.

            Jolting from his spot on the bed, he startled Daryl as he excitedly exclaimed, “I’ll be right back, I've got an idea!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, I'm struggling. I always struggle when it comes to multi-chapter fics. It is my greatest weakness. But I'm trying (like Daryl)! I swear I now have a mostly completed outline for this fic and there is an end-goal in mind. We're gonna get there, I promise. It might be slow. It might be bumpy and grammatically incorrect at times, but we're gonna get there.


End file.
